All Too Real
by SusieCues
Summary: Will all their plotting and planning, the conniving and jiving shape them, or break them?
1. Chapter 1

Her hand shook holding her mobile phone. No, this wasn't a good idea, but she was going through with it anyway. She missed him, missed his voice, the way she liked his looking at her, his kiss. His lips flattened against hers with his smile coaxing hers to appear. Before she could talk herself out of it, she had punched his number. No, she hadn't taken him off speed-dial. Hadn't wanted to. Feelings ran deep, and hers were tied up in knots when it came to him. As she waited for the call to go through, her stomach did flip-flops.

She didn't want him to answer, as she waited for him to answer. She didn't make much sense. How could she? She had fallen in love. Had told herself not to, but had ignored herself anyway. Adam was the one who had gotten away only because he wasn't supposed to be with her. But, she wanted him despite all the nonsense that had gone on. How was that for crazy? Her grip on reality was slipping, ever since she had gotten mixed up with the dashing Englishman. If she got his voicemail, she had already decided against leaving a message. Maybe in a day or so she'd go through this whole silly rigmarole all over again. Maybe not. Maybe she would come to terms with this madness, finally, and just forget him. Could she actually do that without slipping? Reverting back to the hardcore realist she used to pride herself on being. Well, she could try, and be better off. Or be a terminal basket-case.

Adam was back where he belonged, and she was here, pining for him in this one-bedroom apartment with walls as thin as paper. When the married couple next door erupted in ecstasy at points during the night, Rachel got very sad. And her thoughts crossed over the Pond to the fabled land of Edwardian kings and queens.

"Hello?"

Did Adam know it was she? What time was it over there? The digital clock on the table near the armchair read 4:00. It was morning, darkest before the dawn and all that. Yes, she was calling him because she couldn't fall back to sleep, and the couple's moaning coming from next door kept her up. Those two were at it again, with their guttural sighs and high-pitched outbursts. Insatiable beasts they were, though one would never get that by just looking at them. The wife was blond with a perky smile, genial and demur. Her husband was pleasingly laid-back, a friendly sort, tall, lean and, yes, quite the gorgeous catch.

Rachel envied Molly. That was the wife's name. Her husband was George. Their last name, Artz.

"Rachel?" Adam cleared his throat, making it sound more commanding. "Is that you?" Exhilaration zipped through him, chasing his blood. He hadn't felt so alive in weeks. "I hope to what little mercy there is in this world that it's you." He strained, desperate to hear her slight breathing.

She released a shaky breath. Not sounding half as sure of herself, she responded, "H-hi. Adam…" What had gotten into her? What was she doing? He wasn't sure who this was. Probably because her phone number was no longer saved on his phone. He'd most likely deleted it. She decried how needy her voice was. Sour, she reprehended herself.

"Well, I must say, this is a surprise. Quite. How are you?"

 _Miserable_ rattled through her mind. No matter how much she drank, trying to drown old memories with as much booze as she could lay her hands on, the exercises were total failures. He'd left his mark, on her heart, and the ache she felt wore on and on. "Fine. Fine." _Liar_ rippled through her. Lies rolled off her tongue all too easily. It was positively pathological.

She was " _fine_ ," so she said. Thing was, when she was lying, her voice hitched. "Funny this. That you should call."

"Where are you?"

Adam puckered his lips over five thousand miles away. "About to have lunch, at my club. It's twelve here, you know."

She didn't really, but was glad she wasn't catching him at an inconvenient time, the way circumstances had caught her. "I know it's funny that I'm calling." Her tongue went dead in her mouth.

"You still there?"

"Yeah. Still here." She wished he had been the one to call. That way, at least she would feel she had a leg up. Having the upper hand was important to her.

"The reason it's funny is that I'm scheduled to fly to the States early next week." He wasn't trying to convince her to run away with him this time. He was running to her. And would he try again? Induce her to go back to England with him? He would need to hone his power of persuasion. Coat his plea in sincerity, all wrapped up in need. Lay an offer she could never refuse on her, and mean it with all his heart. There was no way he'd bail on her this time. Was she still with the show? If so, and Quinn still tried to interfere, he'd expose the harpy for what she was. A self-serving, lying manipulator, who didn't deserve Rachel's fealty. Rachel deserved so much better. She was no more mentally unbalanced than he was.

Rachel began rubbing her temples, her head throbbing. Her heart thrummed. Her eyes were bloodshot due to lack of sufficient sleep mixed with straight alcohol. She'd had one drink too many earlier that evening. "Next week?"

"Yeah. Tuesday." Dispensing with further hesitation, he forged right ahead. "I'd like to see you. That is, if you wouldn't mind."

 _Excellent_ , boomed in her head. "I wouldn't mind," she said so softly, he repeated his wanting to see her. "No, no I wouldn't mind. I'd like to see you too."

"Splendid!" The excitement in his voice reached through the darkness, coaxing her reluctant smile.

"Adam."

"Yes, Rachel?"

"Are you sure?"

"About seeing you?"

"Yes. About seeing me."

He heartily endorsed, "Absolutely. Can't wait. I'll phone you when I've arrived. We'll have dinner. Yes?"

"If you want to," she replied hesitantly.

"I want to. Till then, then," Adam underscored.

"Till then," Rachel rejoined, the whirring in her mind making her feel lightheaded. Gladness seeped through her.

"Good hearing from you."

"Good to be heard. Bye for now. See you soon." His name fluttered in her mind.

He ended the call, and ended her depression of several months. Desperation had worn her ragged. She replaced her phone on the night table, then breathed deeply, then rolled over unto her other side and shut her weary eyes. In less than two minutes she was fast asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

After she finished up pouring her heart out about how 'freakin,' miserable, and over-the-top terrible things were on the set to Adam, he, over 6,000 miles removed from her across the Atlantic and the bulk of the continental United States, gave a hearty sigh. "Well, love, my offer still stands."

Rachel knew what he was going to say, only this time his offer rang out loud and clear with a distinctive ring of being too good to pass up. She was sick of it, the browbeating, backbiting and most of all—being passed over—again! The outsider, smug Coleman, who wore his smugness like a badge, was 'fresh meat.' She hated him already. Okay, maybe _hate_ was a bit extreme, but trying to cobble a successful show with him running things wasn't going to be easy. It went without saying that they were destined to butt heads and clash. Their network head, scornful Gary, was counting on that. He was a self-serving thorn in her side. Why else would he bring in someone completely unfamiliar with what they did on ' _Everlasting_ ' to make it work? It wasn't working now, and it certainly wasn't going to work with this new producer. The show in Chet's hands had no way of working either, and Quinn had had her day. It was time another woman had her shot with ' _Everlasting,_ ' specifically, this _woman_.

Things being what they were now, the worst, there seemed little chance she'd be calling the shots this year, or ever.

Gripping her phone harder, she fed her wannabe prince-charming, "And it's an exciting offer… One I've been thinking about a lot lately."

"I'm hearing a 'but' in there somewhere," Adam chipped in, rising from a Prince Edward chair situated a bit off center in the updated living room of his stylish flat in London's West End. With a handsome contribution from his family, he'd gotten a business idea of his off the ground finally, and was doing quite well. He lacked his queen, and was hell-bent having her by his side, co-ruling with him in the enterprise. He wasn't going to 'hard-sell' it to Rachel, though. She was her own woman, and he respected her for that.

He'd begun meandering, pacing aimlessly. He halted then, in mid-pace, looking cogent, thoughtful. "We're good for each other, Rach. I want—no—need you in my life. For the love of all that's good, proper and just, please reconsider." Sure, he respected her for being her own woman, but he had needs too. She deserved more, so much more too. Something far better than the dodgy shortshrift she was getting in the States. What if she turned him down again? He wasn't about to give up, determined to have her, as he was.

"No. Not a 'but.' A, 'can't you come back? Be with me here,' instead? It would be great, like the last time." She laid supplication on thick, picturing him with his aristocratic face, with kind eyes that smoldered, in her mind's eye. "Please. You're right, you know. We are good together. So good that I think with your being here, it'll be the best stimulant I need to go after exactly what I deserve." Her unyielding tone had transformed desire into decree. "Adam, you need to be here, with me. You know I won't take no for an answer. You know me; know how I am."

He was quick to take the bait, running with it, firing on all cylinders. Nodding, he smugly replied, "Precisely, which is why, although rescuing you from that toxic environment would be for the best, I know there's no use my belaboring the point of your extricating yourself from said toxicity." Since they weren't skyping, her waking smile was lost on him. When he got mega-British on her, she would swoon. There was no hint of defeat in his sigh. "If that's indeed what you wish."

"I can make a difference here. I really can," she insisted, twisting a bit of her hair between her cigarette-stained fingers.

"You make a difference wherever you are, my love…"

Adam thrilled, his mind made up, anticipating being with her again, anticipating what she might say if he asked her to marry him. Surely she must know he didn't subscribe to giving up so easily. _If at first one doesn't succeed, try, try, try, try and keep trying until one does_ , was his treasured motto. Pity Rachel hadn't known him as a schoolboy, during his impressionable university prep phase when he'd eaten and internalized that rallying cry. 'Slackerism,' a word he coined, and loved bandying, had merely been a passing flirtation at best, had once looked attractive. That was no longer true since his brush with ' _Everlasting_ ,' and the tempestuous Rachel. He was "on course," as his mother liked to say, and bent on staying it, come what may.

Rachel was worth pulling out all the stops for, and he had, ever since he'd returned to England. Now, he was tasked with convincing her to pack it in; turn her back on, walk away, no, skurr out, and fast, before that lot drove her out of her mind. Which wasn't beyond the realm of possibility. Anger rippled through him, coloring his outlook. Those 'rotters' she kowtowed to were scandalous. Their chief aim in life was to guarantee ' _Everlasting,_ ' their 'darling,' scored the highest ratings in telly history. They'd drive Rachel mad, if she let them. His new mission in life was seeing that did not happen. Adam thought back to Quinn and her perversity. She'd been the one who had led him to believe that Rachel was none too stable. Adam knew his 'poppet' wasn't quite right in the head, but the brown-eyed, porcelain-skinned beauty wasn't completely bonkers, but her continued association with that amoral Quinn and the remorseless production crew would surely push his beloved over the edge.

He feared if he tarried, it could only mean the worse for his beautiful, overextended, pill-popping sweetheart.

"I'm on my way."

Rachel nearly toppled over from her seated position on the stool she perched on at the lacquered shale stone kitchen island. "You're coming here then?" she mewled, 'over the moon,' as he would say.

"Right you are, love. I'm booking my flight even as we speak." He and Travelocity were good, long-term friends. Swiping his laptop screen, then confirming where necessary, he put the finishing touches on his travel plans with an air of aplomb. "There. That's got it. I'm all set. British Airways, Flight three-eighty-seven, non-stop into Miami where we briefly layover, and then it's on to L.A." Misty-eyed he exclaimed, "Can't wait to see you, which will be roughly at nine your time, tomorrow evening."

"I can't wait to see you," Rachel reiterated, seeing herself hugging the stuffing out of him. As sure as she was sitting here, missing the gorgeous and polished former suitor on the show, her ex-boyfriend, Jeremy, didn't care anything about her. Dashing Adam, her Adam did. "Love you, Adam," Rachel cooed.

"Love you too, Love," he promised, vowing they'd go shopping for rings no later than after she said, 'I do.' "Now, get some rest. It sounds as though you've had quite the busy day."

"You have no idea," Rachel whispered, shaking, as she eyed the hazy bottle of Glenfiddich beckoning to her as she licked her trembly lips. A sob she couldn't suppress escaped when she said, "I can't win with them." Her voice higher, she hesitantly continued. "Adam...you're really coming?"

With a sigh, she reached for the booze as she heard Adam say, "Really, dear heart. _Semper fidelis_ …you have my word."

Her eyes half-closed, she nodded, reaching for the bottle to drink straight out of it. "Hurry," she told him, knowing how anxious and insecure she sounded.

"Commencing to throw some things into luggage," said he, standing before his closet, mentally ticking off items he planned to take. "You rest. I'll pack. See you soon."

"Yeah. See ya." And she waited before disconnecting, anticipating. A telling pause ensued; he was still there. Who'd end the call first? Dispensing with the high school antics, Rachel spoke, saying, "Soon." Adam grinned, determined to have her breaking the connection first. With a weak smile on her haggard face, she ended the call, and wasted no time grabbing the bottle to swill more scotch before she showered and fell into bed, hoping to fall asleep right away. She downed the last of the Glenfiddich with a lazy smile rolling across her pale lips as she sagged and teetered her way to the bathroom with the empty liquor bottled still in hand.


	3. Chapter 3

_Wake up—wake up—wake up_!

Whoever that was, they'd better stop screaming at her because her brain was on a laundry list of prescription drugs. Rachel cracked open her bleary eyes to wan daylight. She was partly-relieved, partly-numbed seeing that she was still in this drab, functional room of her 'home away from her turbulent home,' _Everlasting._ The mental institution her mother had brought her to was the only retreat she'd had away from her job's pandemonium in ages. What choice had her mother had? Her daughter had begged her to help her when Rachel had called. Adam, sitting at the foot of what could only be laughably thought of as a bed, had pushed her over the edge. Her grip of reality was dismal, her mood swings were violent, their lability extreme.

No one knew how she would awaken each day before reporting for work, cramming a fist so tightly that her hand would hurt for hours, into her mouth to stifle her soundless screams. She wasn't telling anyone about that, not even her present 'shrink.'

"I can't wake up," Rachel moaned, startled that the room seemed to be tilted, then gradually began to spin. She was about to ram her head back into the pillow of her bed when light rapping upon the closed door precluded her intent. Like a severe cramp, a frisson coursed through her, hearing the voice on the other side of the door purr.

"Rachel…Rachel…" An intervening pause followed, and then he spoke her name again, as though it were a mantra. "Rachel…"

"Go away," she croaked through excessively dry lips, cracked and peeling. She hurled herself back, squashing the pillow almost flat. Up went her right arm to shield her eyes. With her forearm draped across her nose, she whispered, "I told you before. How many times do I have to say it? Adam…" Her voice hitched, trembling. "It's over." Rachel drew upon a phantom, the look of determination coupled with optimism in Coleman's eyes the last time they'd been together. Empowered, she reflected. It felt like ages since they'd held each other, vowing how good they were for each other. He completed her; she completed him.

So, where was he now, when she needed him most? She couldn't remember, couldn't think properly. Had he come to see her since she'd come here?

Wasn't he the one who really cared about her? Or had her razor-sharp yearnings conjured that up? Unreality abetted fantasies.

Had her compulsions driven her to this dark, hollow place?

Would they marry? He hadn't promised her that, hadn't promised her anything other than their being together would insure success. Was that success as in a mellow, blissful blending of lives, or making a financial killing? How did he measure success? How did she? Rachel wasn't sure about his ever clarifying that satisfactorily. She wasn't altogether clear whether true success was real, or fuzzy figments of imagination jumbled together and glued like elements of a collage.

"Rachel…"

She rewarded Adam's insistent sighing of her name with silence. If she kept quiet, he'd go away. He had to, because even someone as fixated as he had to take the hint at some point. Especially if that hint is propelled with sledghammer impact. Maybe prescription drugs could get him off her.

See him? She'd rather have a month of root canals. She wanted nothing to do with him. Didn't want him anywhere near her. She couldn't bear it, wouldn't let him change her. What was he doing here? What made him think she had wanted him pleading with her in her trailer that night, like a man who thought he was her only hope? What gave him the right to force himself on her? Why had he returned to the _Everlasting_ set? At the back of her beleaguered mind, the persistent thought nagged: _I can't forgive him…I can't. Not after all he's done. Now he's here because Quinn wants him here, tormenting me. I don't want him here. I don't want him, period. He didn't come here for me. He's after whatever she promised him. He's out for himself, like always._

Logic puddled in the vast recesses of her spider web mind until the dulcet sound of his soft voice pulled her out from within. Her nightmares were dreams within dreams, layers overlapping layers, without end.

"Just let me see you, Rachel," Adam supplicated, infusing his voice with longing. He couldn't let this happen to her. Couldn't let those repulsive muppets, who were using her, playing fast and loose with her life, win. How selfish they were, those rotters. What an awful lot they were…Gary, the big smelly cheese, Quinn, Lady Macbeth, Chet, the tool, Jay, the always-scheming fop, her bullheaded ex, Jeremy Craner, and this newest to the list, Coleman Wasserman, the Johnny-Come-Lately user. Adam was still trying to figure out what his angle was, aside from using Rachel for his gain. Selfishness was at his core. Anger flared within, driving Adam's fist against the door's composite wood. He pounded, unable to stop. "Rachel, please. I won't be a bother. Won't stay long, if that's your wish. Promise. I just need to..." The trailing of his voice erupted into, "I must see you."

"Stop shoving!" Rachel ripped the pillow from under her head to use it as a muffler when she buried her face beneath it.

"See me then," Adam soothed.

No—no—no! sang in her head, but her mouth mutinied. "All right. All right, all ready. But just for a moment. Then get out!"

"I'm coming in," Adam announced, walked in, and immediately felt his eyes water. Seeing her as she was at this moment in time was an affront to all that was fair and decent. She was a brilliant woman, who deserved so much better than this. Laying his coat over the back of a sadly-designed slipper chair, he darted to her bedside, immediately going for a hand sunken into the pillow, closest to him. The color of her hands were eggshell pale, sickly. Grotesque, straight out of a legitimate horror movie. "Oh, my poor, dear girl," he began, but Rachel, rolling her eyes and puffing her cheeks under the downy pillow, angrily cut him off.

"I'm not poor, and absolutely _not_ your dear girl," she snarled. If she'd had a bucket of rocks to chuck at him, she would have. Would have rained the entire collection on his dirty blond head. Through gritted teeth, she menaced, "You try anything, I'll scream my head off. Security will come running and throw you out of here—where you belong—out!"

He itched to mollify her, placate the animosity out of her. His rapidly-beating heart banged in his chest, its beating ragged like an out of synch drum. The steely ring of irrationality in her voice cut into him like a serrated knife. "I'll behave. I won't say a word, if you like. Just the mere touch of your hand will suffice."

She snatched her hand from his grasp and boomed, " _No_!"

"Okay." Letting her have her way would have to hold sway. By the sound of her, it was the only way she'd allow him to remain. "Fine. Very good then. It was presumptuous of me to think you'd let me hold your hand."

"Liar!" Rachel railed, uprooting the pillow from her face. "You're speaking way too much. I don't want to hear you. Understand?"

"Yes. I am prattling on, aren't I?" He held his tongue, not daring to push it. They sat in deafening silence, which felt like an uneasy truce, until Adam quietly mentioned, "Are they treating you well?"

Exploding into a cacophony of incrimination and ill-will, she yelled, "Security! Security! Security—security!"

"Rachel, no. No, I didn't mean—"

"Get out!" The sound of his contrite voice only served to drive her wilder. Kicking and screaming, thrashing from side to side, she refused to settle down, as though she didn't possess a shred of rationality.

"I'm sorry, Rachel. Honestly. Believe me, please. I'm so sorry."

"Security! Security! Get him out of here!" Her caterwauling reached new, more shrieking volubility. "Now—now—now!" Her feet landed blows that his hands sought to protect himself from. Her elicited wrath stunnded him.

"Rachel, Rachel—I never meant to hurt you." His heart up his throat, several tears escaped his trapping eyelids as he vowed, " _I love you_!" He cried out in acute distress, "Darling, I LOVE YOU WITH ALL MY HEART!"

Drawing in an even deeper breath, Rachel exploded with all of her might, "GET OUT OF MY LIFE! GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT!" Geared for battle, she lambasted, "YOU SUCK!" Then, delivering like one of American baseball's best major league pitchers, she hurled, " _SECURITY_!"

Dazed, Adam regretfully recalled Quinn's unsolicited revelation about Rachel being as mad as a hatter. Yet, even still, despite this latest episode of her sanity wearing thin, Adam refused to accept that the woman whom he deeply loved was... _unbalanced_.

And, if she was certifiably mad, she'd been driven to madness by amoral, ruthless people. He vowed he'd make them pay, whatever it took. For starters, it was imperative that he come up with a plan. What would it take, how far would he go, to rescue her from her enemies?


	4. Chapter 4

_When monstrous things happen to you in rapid succession, there's this part of you that blanks, rejects all the woe outright. You demand that you wake up from the nightmare. What if you can't wake up, and the misery never ends?_

Quinn clung to Rachel every bit as Rachel clung to her, battling their personal torments. According to her examination, Quinn was unable to bear children. Desperate for erasing Adam's imprint on her, Rachel had trusted Coleman, had convinced herself that he was the one, and he'd betrayed her. He had made believe he'd really cared about her, but had used her. He didn't love her. He loved himself and his career. First and foremost, he was in it to win fame and acclaim for himself. Why had she trusted him? Like nails having been driven through her heart, the torment intensified.

Sadly, since Rachel had divulged to him the shrouded secret, Coleman now had 'the goods' on Quinn and her. He gave being sneaky new meaning, having tapped Rachel's phone and later video recorded her confessing about their complicity in Mary's death. He'd finally gotten the 'dirt' he craved.

Through her brutal sobs, her breath stacked, Quinn stiffened, her belly sobs uncontrollable, like the weight of a crushing tsunami battering her slim body. She held on to Rachel tighter, angry with herself and at the world, but happy to have her true ally and accomplice back. They were blood sisters, ready to do battle with anyone who got in their way. Quinn didn't do breakdowns; she caused other people to have them. She had cried, done the kind of crying that hurt because it took a lot out of her.

The pain had gotten inside her bones until she felt as if her skeletal frame had cracked. Could enough booze draw off that much hurt?

Did she want to have children? Well, if she'd ever given serious thought to having any, that choice was gone. That was the reason for her coming apart moments ago.

She hated not having options, not being in control, she thought, squeezing Rachel harder. Adopt a child with John Booth? That seemed farfetched since she'd told him to clear out. Besides, marry him? Did she want to be married? Maybe, or maybe not. It depended on what mood she was in, partly.

"I'm sorry, Quinn. I'm so sorry. Coleman's a liar. An opportunist."

"I told you. You couldn't trust him. The sneaky prick was only out for himself. He played you," Quinn settled, breathing out heavily, pulling back from Rachel as her eyes took in the collateral damage she'd caused. Shards of broken monitor glass were everywhere, littering the well-trodden floor, marker-flecked consoles, and coffee-stained seats. She latched on to Rachel's upper arms with both hands. "How many times do you think he's sold his soul?" That was a question anyone connected with ' _Everlasting_ ' could be asked. How many straight answers received would be another story.

"He'll take us down," Rachel muttered, looking lost.

"He thinks he's won," Quinn said with her usual toxic smirk.

Rachel arched an eyebrow, matching Quinn's look of rising vengeance. "He thinks lots of things. Mostly about himself being the greatest. He's crap."

Quinn's hands pressed heavily into Rachel's shoulders where her hands had settled. "What he thinks, and what's going to happen are two different things." Quinn's sardonic laugh hung in the air before she spoke again. "I've got my Rachel back."

Nodding, she had to agree. "You bet you have." Feeling better than she had felt in weeks, Rachel laughed too, embracing her realignment with her mentor. "Let's get to work."

"Yes, let's. We'll show Mister Wasserman how the real women behind _our_ show do business." Quinn's haunting laughter brought a quick and easy smile to Rachel's tired, yet determined looking face.

"You forgive me?" Rachel asked, peering into Quinn's mellowing eyes.

Her terse reply ignited Rachel's intense eyes. "Forgive what? Your ghastly taste in men? Join the club, honey."

They clasped hands, and hand-in-hand, vowed they'd work together, full disclosure, trusting the other the way they used to. If, or when any differences of opinion or outright disagreements arose, they promised they would lock themselves in a room and talk out whatever it was that had come between them until they were blue in the face. If that didn't work, then they'd go their separate ways. But, that wasn't anything they wanted to think about right now. They were back in the same saddle, together, for what they hoped would be, the long run.

"Agreed," Rachel committed. Though she didn't feel like admitting this to Quinn, she knew she still had lots to learn about this cesspool life could be. A settled, peaceful look came over her face. She, no longer aching so much inside.

If they had learned anything from this, letting anyone, or anything come between them was poison. If, at any time, something like what they'd been through reared its ugly head, they'd nip the stupidity in the bud before it ever turned into the fiasco they had on their hands now.

"Agreed," Quinn, acknowleging Rachel's need for approval, capped. The older woman saw it in her eyes, Rachel hungry for any sign of love, affection, acceptance from the woman who meant more to her than her own mother. Although the King-Goldberg alliance had suffered some damage, damage control was in effect. Redressing the spoilage, they would go on, stronger than ever, bent on having their show nail down the highest ratings in the history of the network.


	5. Chapter 5

"Quinn..." Rachel wasn't sure about anything. Least of all if her dad would ever get better. She'd tried to do the right thing. Had thought that by taking him away from his wife, her mother. Her desperate, grasping, controlling ruler of their household, he would be cured. Rescuing him had been the best thing she could have done. But, maybe, just maybe having her father try to kick the drug her mother had him on in the truck doubling as her bedroom hadn't been in his best interests. He was a man struggling with scores of delusions. He was lost within himself.

"Yeah?"

"He will get better, right?" Suddenly Quinn's office felt way too small for the two of them to be in at the same time. The walls were closing in, and the air in here was getting way too thin.

"Now that he's in the right hands..." She gazed critically into her protoget's wistful eyes that demanded that Quinn assuage her. Quinn sighed. This wasn't what she'd signed on for. Playing nursemaid to this full-grown, talented, razor-sharp-minded young woman. Her cohort, who loved her father more than she knew how to express coherently in words. _While we're at it, you could use professional help too_ , Quinn couldn't stop herself from thinking. "Yeah. Sure-of course. He's getting the help he desperately needs. By all accounts, high time too." What she said next flowed. "You meant well, but meaning well just isn't enough. Professionals make the difference. That's something that isn't news. Shouldn't be. Not to you. That's what _we_ are, Rachel, when it comes to this." Her arms embraced the room as she widened them, circumscribing their kingdom of make-believe and infamy. "We're the only ones that know what it takes to make _Everlasting_ a roaring success."

"I can't...I can't deal with _this_ right now, Quinn. The only one I can concentrate on is my dad. He needs me and I'm seeing him every day, without fail. For as long as it takes. You can orchestrate everything to make _Everlasting_ the success you crave. You don't need me."

As Rachel closed in on the office door, Quinn's voice cut the air like a stiletto. "How many times do I have to tell you I do need you. You're the glue that holds this show together and sticks. Okay, I get it. Your dad comes first. So, go. Do what you need to do for him, but don't for one second think you're done. Not with _me_ , not with _Everlasting_."

"What if I am done with you and _Everlasting?_ For good," Rachel quietly breathed.

Quinn strode up to her and replied in kind, "You'll _never_ be done with me, or _Everlasting_. And you know that. This is your Grail like it is mine. You accept nothing less than giving it your best. Like I do. You make _Everlasting_ tick. And it makes you tick." Quinn's alluring nostrils widened. "You're too intense to throw in the towel. Not when we're so close to making this show exactly the way it should have been all along."

Rachel, snagging the hair in her face away from it, and reading her mentor's mind, rivetingly whispered, " _Fantastic_..."

"My thought exactly," Quinn praised, her eyes glowing. "Fantastic!"


	6. Chapter 6

Her head on the cabin's wooden deck felt right. Her head was spinning, 'round and 'round and round. When it would stop, she did not know. Rachel only knew that she'd done the right thing. Had decided to come here to decompress, hopefully detox. She was far, far away from the environment that had its insidious way of poisoning her. The environment she'd known for far too long. Quinn was quick to say it was where she belonged.

Sprawled out here on this deck, Rachel wasn't sure where she belonged. Not any more. But, maybe this place could become her refuge, a haven of a sorts, until she could sort out just where she went from here. She gazed up at the calming azure sky this early afternoon. A sense of peace and security washed over her. The mild breeze threading through the gently swaying limbs of majestic forestial trees was tranquilizing. She breathed in another breath slowly, quietly releasing it just as slowly, careful to take her time. Breathing...in-out, in-out. In-out, with eyes closed. Better peace of mind was the cleanser.

What did she want out of life? Being Quinn's alter-ego for the rest of it? Rachel shook that thought out of her mind. It was too disturbing a thought. Thinking so would sabotage what she needed most. Serenity blanketing her brain, putting an end to the chaos she had forced herself to embrace as sanity. She was hardly naïve; she knew she couldn't hide out here forever. That wasn't her plan.

She yearned for a new start, once she renewed. But, what sort of new start? Ideas, novel, yet taking on ambiguous implications, bombarded her mind. Though doing her best to halt them, the onslaught persisted. Until...a compelling and audacious notion blindsided her and she reeled.

 _Why not_? They've all had their shot. _Why not me_? _Don't I deserve finding happiness with someone whom I can love_? _And he love me_?

The more Rachel considered this, the more it wasn't crazy, daft, or nonsensical. Why not she, having her turn? Figments of handsome, intelligent, lively young men vying for her attentions and affection curled her toes. Several times, she actually squealed in delight. Her mind and heart pulsed in synch.

"I can sell it to Quinn," Rachel murmured while smiling contentedly as her saucy eyes danced. "It's just wild enough for her to go for. She'll snap it up and run with it."

She rolled over onto her stomach, swinging her legs to and fro like a teenager gabbing with a friend she'd just been with minutes ago. Already, she knew how great _Everlasting_ was going to be this season, featuring her escapades in televised romantic reality driving it forward.

"And I'll be the one they'll need to please. I'm so done with it being the other way around. My days of being the flunky are over and buried." She sat up with her legs flat out in front of her and clapped her hands together. "I'll make it happen like I've always done. Only this time...it'll be me calling the shots, running the mind games to work out in _my_ favor. I want love. I want happiness. And this time-I'm going to get it."

She scarcely noticed that the sun was beginning to set, as engrossed in thought as she was. Eventually hunger encroached on her fanciful musing. Rachel got up from the deck, took a long, pleased look at the woodlands framing this idyllic setting. She marveled at how fast the light dwindled. Sighing, she retreated into the cabin to prepare her dinner for one.


End file.
